A Friar's Bloodfeud: (Knights Templar 20) (41 page)

‘He was telling me all about how he had thrown her in, and he wanted me to go and help him clean my house. My home. The place
where my father brought me up. I grew so angry to hear of how he had defiled my home that I lashed out at him. There was a
rock, and while he spoke, I picked it up and hammered and hammered at him. He died.’

Simon and Baldwin exchanged a look.

‘For my part,’ Simon said, ‘I think you have done well to execute a murderer’s accomplice. If a man were to kill my
daughter like that, I would like to think that a man like you would be there to do the same.’

Baldwin nodded, thinking of his own little daughter. If his wife was widowed, a recurring fear of his, then what would happen
to them? A man such as Ailward deserved his end. As did Odo. Tomorrow he … ‘Where is Hugh?’

Hugh hurried down the road, limping slightly with the effort. He had taken a staff from beside the inn’s doorway, and it helped
him as he made his way along the road towards Fishleigh.

‘Friend Hugh, I do hope you aren’t thinking of attacking a knight in his hall?’

Hugh turned and scowled at the friar. ‘Leave me.’

‘I can’t, Hugh. If you attack him, it’d harm your immortal soul,’ John said sadly. ‘How could I, a friar, live with myself
if I were to let you do that to yourself?’

Hugh gritted his teeth and set off again.

‘Hugh? Look, there’s no point in going and killing him. He’ll be in court in the morning, and there he’ll be convicted.’

‘And released when he pays amercement. He’ll be free for ages. When the justices get here, they’ll take his money and make
him innocent.’

‘Perhaps. Perhaps others will prevail and he’ll be hanged.’

‘That’s if he’s here.’

‘Hmm?’

Hugh stopped and turned to face him. ‘You don’t think he’ll be there. Do you? He’ll be on his horse tonight. You know that
too.’

‘I fear it,’ John confessed.

‘I won’t let him. I want him dead.’

John said no more. The two men trotted on side by side, and it was only when they were in clear view of the hall that they
began to slow their pace. ‘What now?’ John said.

‘He won’t come north. Means going through Iddesleigh; that’d be dangerous. He’ll go to Hatherleigh, and on from there.’

‘You are sure?’ John smiled. So was he.

Sir Odo had everything he could pack quickly in two saddle-sacks tied behind the saddle. The sacks clanked and rattled, for
he had taken all his best plate. It would be easy to pawn when he needed ready cash. Hopefully his master’s lord would take
his case to heart and protect him, but only if he reached Lord Hugh before news of this little matter could reach his ears
from an unfriendly source.

He clapped spurs to his beast, and was off in an instant, pelting through the open gateway, out into the night, and immediately
turned south on the road to Hatherleigh. That road would take him down to the main road to Crediton and up following the river
to Tiverton and the castle where he hoped to find de Courtenay.

When he was out of sight of the hall, he whipped his mount again. Speed now was crucial. He had to get out of this damned
area as quickly as he could. He had to …

His horse staggered and rose, neighing wildly. At that speed there was little Odo could do to stop the animal slipping sideways,
the hindquarters sliding underneath, and suddenly his own leg was under the brute, the flesh being raked by the stones in
the trail, and the horse was down, thrashing madly. Sir Odo kicked himself free and looking down felt the first glimmerings
of panic and fear set in. The damned creature had broken a leg!

Swearing to himself, he drew his sword and swept it swiftly over the throat, jerking himself away as the blood fountained.
Only then, wiping some of the blood from his tunic, did he have time to study the damage to himself, and as he peered at the
blood seeping from the long graze all along his upper thigh, he cursed again.

Hugh smiled to himself. He cut the rope they had set across the road, and he licked his lips with a fierce excitement. Stepping
forward, he stood in front of Sir Odo. ‘Remember me?’

Sir Odo glanced up with a feeling of disbelief. He had thought himself alone and ruined, but here was a man. He squinted up
at Hugh. ‘Do I know you? Do you have a horse I can buy? I have money here, and I need a beast urgently.’

‘I didn’t bring you down to sell you a horse,’ Hugh said.

‘Didn’t … you mean
you
brought my horse down?’ Sir Odo exclaimed, reaching for his sword.

Immediately the staff in Hugh’s hands whipped out and cracked against Sir Odo’s knuckles. The metal-shod tip broke two bones
in his hand. Sir Odo felt them crack, and a terrible numbness overcame his hand. Then the pain began, and he clutched at the
ruined limb. ‘Who are you?’

‘I’m Hugh Drewsteignton, or Hugh Shepherd. I used to have a little house up in Iddesleigh.’

Sir Odo felt his stomach lurch, but he tried to keep his voice calm. ‘So? I recall – your poor wife and child were killed,
weren’t they? That was terrible. Wasn’t it a fire?’

‘You and your men were there, weren’t they? You killed my woman so you could blame Sir Geoffrey for starting a war between
Fishleigh and Monkleigh. You didn’t want to hurt any of your own peasants, so you had my house burned,
you killed my woman and son, and left me alive to accuse Sir Geoffrey.’

‘Why should I do that? It would hardly help me, would it?’

It was John who answered now. The friar stepped forward from behind Hugh. ‘You would use anything to remove Sir Geoffrey,
wouldn’t you? You might as well confess, Sir Odo, because this man intends to kill you anyway. At least if you admit your
crimes, I can hear your confession first.’

Sir Odo’s eyes narrowed. ‘You would help a murderer kill me?’

‘Only because of your many crimes,’ John agreed sadly. ‘Your offences have convinced me that you deserve death. There is nothing
I can do to stop this fellow, clearly. Come! It is true, isn’t it?’

Sir Odo stared at him, then up at Hugh, and nodded. He spoke with a fierce rage. ‘I wanted him out, yes. He was in my way.’

‘And you had killed Lady Lucy and this man’s family?’

‘He wasn’t one of my serfs. I wasn’t going to hurt the men who generate the manor’s income when he and his woman were there
instead. They didn’t matter.’

Hugh gave a groan, and covered his eyes with a forearm. ‘Didn’t matter?
Didn’t matter
?’

Sir Odo sneered at him. ‘She was a good wench, too. Wriggled like a stoat when my man had her,’ he said. His hand was slipping
to his dagger.

‘Stop!’ Hugh said brokenly. ‘I’ll …’

There was a loud, dull thud, and Hugh’s eyes rolled up into his head as he collapsed like a pole-axed ox. Friar John pursed
his lips and stared down at him, shaking his head. ‘Sorry, Hugh, but I couldn’t let you do it.’

‘Thank you, Friar! You were getting a little close to too late, though,’ Sir Odo said with a weak smile. He shoved the dagger
back in the sheath. ‘Could you help me up, please? My ankle is …’

Friar John closed his eyes, shook his head a little, and then smiled at Sir Odo. ‘What of the confession? Did you kill Lady
Lucy too?’

‘Yes. The little whore wouldn’t accept me when I wanted her to marry me, and I lost my temper. I must have asked her a dozen
times, but she wouldn’t listen. I killed her, I admit it.’

‘Then may God damn your soul!’ John said, and brought the rock crashing down on Sir Odo’s head. He heaved it up and dropped
it five times, until the skull was broken and bloody, and only then did he throw the rock aside and sit down, weeping.

Simon wanted to go to search for his man as soon as the crowds had left. ‘I only found him again this afternoon!’

Sir Geoffrey heard his anguished tone. ‘With any luck your man will have found Sir Odo and killed him already. The devious,
lying, duplicitous bastard deserves death after all the grief he’s caused.’

‘And you are a saint?’ Baldwin sneered. ‘I suppose when you tried to chase Robert Crokers off his land, that was a kindly
gesture to the poor man?’

‘That was different. That bastard Odo had told me that we could run the manor there to our mutual advantage, and it seemed
a good enough …’

‘So you were prepared to steal from your master,’ Baldwin noted. ‘You knew it was a part of the estate he had taken, yet you
retained it.’

‘I expected rewards, and I would naturally have shared them with my master,’ Sir Geoffrey said loftily.

‘It will be interesting to see whether he agrees with you when your little investment comes to his ear.’

Sir Geoffrey looked less happy at that thought. Bad enough to have to explain the ruin of his manor without Lord Despenser
learning about the disputed parcel of land.

‘And there is still the matter of the murder of Robert Crokers,’ Baldwin reminded himself.

Simon put his hand on Baldwin’s shoulder. ‘I have to go. You know why.’

Baldwin nodded. ‘Take Edgar. He knows these lanes quite well already.’

Edgar was first at the stables, and he grabbed his horse and saddled and bridled him while Simon was still looking for his
saddle. It was often the way, Edgar had noticed, that men who were otherwise entirely sensible would all too often lose track
of where their horses had gone in a stable. For him it was entirely natural to see to his horse first. A warrior would always
see to his mount’s comfort before his own, because he would depend on the beast for his life. He had also spent too many years
avoiding capture, while he and his master wandered about the continent as renegade Templars, not to know exactly where all
his equipment was at all times.

When his own horse was prepared, he hurried to help Simon, and soon both were ready. They mounted, and Edgar took the lead,
cantering up past the church, then taking the left turn down towards the river. They crossed it, and were soon on their way
to the old hall at Fishleigh. As they approached it, Edgar slowed his mount, patting the horse’s neck and studying the hall
closely.

‘They aren’t alarmed,’ he said.

‘Why should they be?’

‘If a crazed peasant had run in demanding the head of the master, I’d expect either a lot of noisy fighting, or hilarious
celebrations,’ Edgar mused, and nodded to himself. ‘I think Hugh must have found Sir Odo as he fled.’

‘Where will he be, then?’ Simon said despairingly.

‘On this road. We didn’t see any sign of them up towards Iddesleigh, so they must have gone south instead,’ Edgar said imperturbably.
He urged his horse into a trot.

‘What’s that?’ Simon demanded when they had covered perhaps another quarter mile. ‘There’s something in the lane – a horse!’

Edgar said nothing. He had seen the little bundle just beyond the horse, and he clicked his tongue. His mount hurried onwards
and Edgar slipped from his saddle as Simon joined him. ‘Here he is!’

‘Oh God! He’s not …’

‘He’s breathing too loud for a corpse,’ Edgar said shortly. His hands were at Hugh’s head. ‘Yes, there’s a lump the size of
a goose’s egg here.’

‘What could have happened?’ Simon wondered, leaving Edgar. A short way beyond he found another body. ‘Sir Odo, too!’

Edgar left Hugh for a moment, and reached down to Sir Odo’s body. ‘He’s dead. It’s clear enough what happened, Bailiff. Sir
Odo was riding along here at full tilt, and Hugh was in his path. His horse tried to avoid Hugh, stumbled, and fell, hitting
Hugh as he went. Sir Odo also fell and broke his head.’

Simon looked at him for a long moment. ‘You think so?’

‘I will do by morning,’ Edgar assured him. ‘Would you gather up Hugh? We shall need to carry him back.’

‘Of course,’ Simon said, and marched back to Hugh’s body.

Edgar watched him go, and as Simon bent to pick up Hugh, Edgar took the rock from beside Sir Odo’s corpse, and hurled it as
far as he could into the furze that lined the road.

‘What was that?’ Simon snapped.

‘Just a fox or something,’ Edgar said calmly.

It was another three days before Hugh could hope to be mounted on a horse, and Simon did not, for the first time in his life,
grudge him all the rest he needed. Jeanne helped him nurse his servant back to health, and when Hugh was at last able to stand
and hobble about with a staff, Simon felt as pleased and rewarded as a man watching his son take his first steps.

Emma was not pleased by the recovery, apparently. Jeanne confided in Simon that she thought her maid had rather liked Hugh
when she thought him dead, but now that he was on the path to health, she was happier remembering all the disputes and quarrels
she had had with him.

‘She can’t even bear to be near him now,’ she said.

It was Edgar who explained the truth. ‘I don’t think Emma will return with you, if you give her permission, my lady.’

They were all sitting in the inn’s hall. It was smokier than usual, because of a green log that was too fresh, but as Jankin
had explained, they had used almost all the stores of firewood this year, it had been so cold.

‘Why would she want to leave me?’ Jeanne asked, bemused. ‘She has always been happy with me. We’ve been together for ages.’

‘I think you may find she’s discovered a new interest.’

‘You are talking in riddles, man!’ Baldwin snapped. ‘You are as confusing as when you kept laughing to yourself while we …’
His face hardened. ‘You don’t mean she’s …’

Edgar grinned broadly. ‘If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me!’

‘Who?’ Baldwin demanded.

‘It’s Deadly,’ Edgar said, and then he couldn’t restrain himself, but burst into laughter. ‘You remember how flushed she was,
how tired-looking? I found her in the arms of Deadly in the hayloft that night. Snoring fit to wake the dead, and as naked
as the day they were born … it was a terrifying sight!’

Baldwin winced. ‘I can live without the details, thank you.’

‘Am I not to be allowed love?’ Emma said. She stood in the doorway, her face scowling and flushed as red as St George’s cross.

Baldwin was suddenly very still.

‘Emma, of course you are. I wouldn’t dream of stopping you from finding love – I am as happy as I could be with my husband,
and if you have found a man whom you love, that would make me more than happy. But are you sure?’

‘He asked me to marry him, and we exchanged our vows,’ Emma said firmly.

Baldwin licked his lips anxiously and gazed at his wife.

‘That is wonderful,’ Jeanne said, although her tone betrayed a certain doubt. ‘But you have not known him for long.’

Edgar sniggered. ‘But you have known him very well in a short time.’

Baldwin glared at him furiously.

‘Madam, would you release me? I once knew love, and left him because you were coming here to marry. I don’t want to lose another.’

Baldwin held his breath. Jeanne looked at him and he tried to keep the hope from his eyes.

‘I shall miss you, Emma,’ Jeanne said.

And Baldwin felt as though the sun had suddenly burst
through the ceiling and lighted the whole room with a roseate glow.

Perkin grunted as he pulled at a beam. It wouldn’t move, and he shook his head in disgust. ‘Hoi! Beorn! Get off your arse
and help with this thing, will you?’

Already black with the soot that lay all about, Beorn wiped a hand over his forehead and snorted, hawking and spitting as
he rose and walked through the fine ash to his friend. ‘Why you want to move that one?’

‘Don’t start, Beorn. Just help me with it, will you?’

‘It looks the wrong one to start with. I’d go for one of those on top.’

‘This is the one I want to move, all right? Just help me pull it out of the way.’

‘If you’re sure.’

‘Christ’s balls, just pull!’

Beorn smiled accommodatingly, and bent his knees. He gripped the section of wood and grunted that he was ready. Perkin took
the end again, and the two strained. There was a creak, and the beam shifted slightly.

‘That’s it! Come on, a little more!’ Perkin gasped.

‘I really don’t …’

‘Just bloody pull!’

Beorn shrugged, pulled, and the beam squeaked, then moved, and Perkin found himself falling backwards as it came out.

‘I told you!’ he said, and smiled. His smile grew glassy as there came a slight rumbling noise.

Beorn was already moving backwards. ‘And I told
you
so.’

‘Oh, bugger!’

The farther wall of the house suddenly sprang a crack. Where the beam had lain, a second had fallen on to the old cob wall,
and where it had struck, the wall was slowly but surely collapsing.

Perkin took some quick steps backwards. ‘I didn’t think that would …’

The roar of falling stones and timbers drowned his words. He stood, staring dumbfounded, his mouth gaping as a hole appeared
in the wall before him.

Beorn walked to him and clapped a hand on his shoulder. A small cloud of ash burst upwards, and he narrowed his eyes against
it. When it was somewhat dissipated, he sniffed with an air of satisfaction. ‘I reckon they’ll soon see the advantage of it,
Perkin. Takes a genius to see that a house needs a new door. I wouldn’t have seen that myself.’

‘What’s all the noise? I heard a … Christ in a wine barrel, what’s happened here?’

‘Now, Emma, don’t you worry,’ Perkin said quickly. ‘Look, there was this bit of an accident, and the wall …’

‘She’s stepping towards you,’ Beorn said warningly.

Perkin held his hands before him. ‘Emma, please, it was just one of those … Emma!’

‘Just one of those things, eh?’ Emma asked. She bent and picked up a small lump of blackened timber. ‘I’ll show you one of
those things, I will …’

Perkin took a look at the lump of timber in her hands and gave up any ideas of diplomacy. He darted back, and dived through
the new hole in the wall.

Beorn looked at her. ‘Could you ask Davie to get his arse in here and help me?’

Emma nodded. She scowled at the hole Perkin had created, and tossed the timber through it, pretending not to
hear the thump and cry of anguish. She wouldn’t let them know how happy she was here. They didn’t need to know that. She glowered
at the men outside, before smiling at her Davie.

This place was perfect for her. Hugh’s old home was no good to him, but she would change this into a marvellous little house.
When the new roof was up, she’d clean all the soot and grime from it, and Davie could start to fence in the pasture, and then
they could spend a little of the money which Jeanne had given them on purchasing some good animals, an ox, some pigs, maybe
some lambs too. They’d soon have this little place thriving.

Or she’d know the reason why.

Lady Isabel watched him all the time with suspicious eyes, but he didn’t care. He knew what she was feeling, because he knew
perfectly well what it was like to love and to lose a love. She had lost her man; she wasn’t the only person in the world
to have lost.

Although she sat still and her eyes were still regularly brimming with tears, he could give her his sympathy, but not his
compassion. Why should he? He served her with her food, and she and Malkin took their meagre shares and began to eat.

It was an unspoken rule now that he would not speak to them. Nor would Isabel knowingly make any comment while he was within
earshot, but he didn’t care. Her words would have been barbed, and he was happier to live in this silence.

She had been hoping that Sir Odo would return to her, apparently. When she heard from others that Sir Odo was dead, she had
been disbelieving at first, then furious and almost lunatic, but that all changed when she heard the
actual details of his death. She had flatly refused to entertain the concept that he might have been fleeing from Fishleigh
without her. That, she asserted, was impossible. And since that was, the whole manner of his death was also impossible. Someone
had made it up to fool her, and she wouldn’t swallow it. No, he had been going to come and fetch her at last. They would share
their misery at losing their son, and could comfort each other.

Malkin knew the truth, of course. No one in their right mind could doubt the truth behind Sir Odo. He was the man behind all
the violence, and the cause of the deaths, including his own son’s.

She’d never been happy about Odo coming to visit her mother-in-law, Pagan knew. It was a question that Pagan’s mind would
turn to every so often, whether or not Ailward had told Malkin that he was Odo’s son, not Squire Robert’s, but he doubted
whether he would ever learn the answer. And in fact the speculation was enough. He didn’t need to know, and he didn’t want
to know.

No, he had only ever loved the once, and it was enough for him. When Squire Robert died, he had felt the pain more than anything
else he had ever known, and the only thing that kept him sane for many years was the knowledge that he was doing his duty
by guarding Robert’s son Ailward. Except Ailward was not his son.

But Robert had
thought
he was, and that in some way was as good as Pagan could have hoped for. If Ailward was good enough for Robert to treat as
his own son, Malkin’s son would be enough for Pagan too. He would serve the child as he had served Ailward.

For love.